Sometimes, I ponder why Africa remain chained by shackles of poverty, clobbered by disease and ravaged by war. I then shed a hot scalding tear from within the inner caves of my heart. Africa my motherland your name is IRONY and your birth mark is paradox. Sure, Africa my land is blessed with natural beautification. Where at every dawn, we dance to the festival of natural beat, Father baboons on baritone, Mother monkeys on sweet tenor, sister doves on soprano and on the trumpet is the great elephant. Africa, My Africa. Today, the wind was calm and the earth danced to the beat of little glory. COVID 19 is still digging its feet deep unto the gates of our beloved countries. I didn’t stop, I trudged along into the digital thickets of Africa, I met a poetic damsel scribbling poetry graffiti on Facebook wall draping’s and inserting her husky poetic voice on the googles internet walls. The voice in Alari Alare Celine is the soft beat of drizzle wetting the smile creased foreheads of hills, the rhythm is the gush rush of a waterfall and depth is the cackling of wild hens bathing in silver colored ravine of Zame. Mesmerizing. The poet in Alari sings to Africa and yearns for the return of virgin Africa, the original Africa. The poet sings to her belonging and her identity . WOMAWORDS Profiles blog present Poet Writer Alari Alare Celine , a Kenyan born writer and is involved with Nairobi Literary Café Aluta Continua- WOMAWORDS eDitor.